


together

by OnyxSphinx



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: F/F, Female Newton Geiszler/Female Hermann Gottlieb, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Movie: Pacific Rim (2013), Post-Movie: Pacific Rim: Uprising (2018), the day i stop writing about these two is the day i die
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:40:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23058640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnyxSphinx/pseuds/OnyxSphinx
Summary: two-shot newmann hurt/comfort
Relationships: Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> post-pacrim, newt-pov

This is it; after; Hermann’s arm hooked over her shoulders; the crowd roaring around them. They’ve won—against all odds, they’ve won. They’ve won, and all she can focus on is the heat of Hermann’s skin where it’s touching hers.

Well—to be fair, she usually can’t focus on much besides Hermann, so it’s nothing new, though this, the comfortable easiness, is. She’s not complaining, though—she’s never going to complain about _this_.

“Perhaps, ah—” Hermann says, suddenly, breaking through the fog, “we could…sit down?”

Newt blinks; the words taking a moment to process, and then nearly hits herself. “Oh, shit, man—yeah, of course, let’s—” she stumbles over herself; mind screeching to a halt for a moment before she can speak again; clinging tight to Hermann.

Hermann gives a quiet hum, lost, almost, in the cacophony around them. “Cat got your tongue?” she asks.

“Kaiju,” Newt says, “but—yeah. Um. Anyway, let’s get to—uh, do you want to go to the lab or to your room? Your room’s closer, but I can get you to either.”

“My quarters are fine,” Hermann says; a smile beginning to stretch across her expression, though weary. Newt nods and adjusts their positions slightly so she can better support the other.

They’re about three-quarters of the way there when Hermann lets out a sudden hiss. “ _Ah_ ,” she says, voice strained.

Newt stops. “Hermann?” she says, “are you okay.”

“ _Fine_ ,” Hermann grits; voice levelling out within seconds, but it’s not enough; Newt’s already caught the hint of pain, and for _fuck’s_ sake, they _Drifted_ , she _knows_ Hermann isn’t fine. “I’m _fine_ ,” Hermann says, again, but her grip is white-knuckled on her cane, and she’s shaking slightly.

Newt frowns. “Hermann,” she says, “we both know that’s a lie. Let’s—look, medbay is just around the corner—”

“ _No_ ,” Hermann snaps; voice raw, before she manages to reign it in. “Newton, please, not—not now. _Please._ ”

Her jaw is clenched; eyes screwed shut behind the frames of her glasses, and her lip trembles. Newt swallows thickly. It _hurts_ , to see Hermann like this—pleading, in _pain_. “Alright,” she croaks, finally. “Let’s—let’s get you to your room.”

They make it; barely. By the time they get to the door, Hermann’s nearly falling over; can barely take another step, and Newt’s glad she’s so light, because otherwise, she’s not sure she’d have been able to get Hermann here.

Hermann manages to fish the keys out of her pockets and pass it to Newt; leaning against the wall heavily while Newt unlocks the door.

“Alright, got it,” Newt says; unnecessarily, because Hermann can _see_ it, but it slips out of her anyway. “Let’s get you to bed.”

“Hnn,” Hermann replies; ever-eloquent, and lets Newt herd her into the room; push her, gently, down onto the bed.

“What happened?” Newt murmurs, looking over Hermann’s form; not nearly as bloodied and dirtied as hers, but _she’s_ not the one wincing and hissing with pain with each breath. Hermann avoids her gaze.

“ _Hermann_ ,” she says, pursing her lips, “dude, please, tell me—I just wanna make sure you’re okay, alright?”

There’s a beat; long, almost an eternity, and then Hermann swallows; shifts her head to indicate her shirt. She’s not talking—her eyes are half-lidded, and Newt suspects she’s too exhausted to. “You want me to help you take your shirt off?” she asks, and Hermann, after a pause, nods.

Newt hesitates—of _course_ she does, this is one of the most intimate things that she’s ever done; Hermann’s _trusting_ her; literally baring herself to Newt. It’s—god, it’s _humbling_ , to know that Hermann isn’t trying to hide from her, now.

With gentle fingers, she pulls the other’s sweater up; carefully, slowly, pulls it off, and then untucks her shirt and unbuttons it.

It only takes getting about halfway before she spots it; the dark, angry purple on Hermann’s pale skin standing out especially. She stops; half-gasp choking in her throat. “ _Hermann_ ,” she mumurs, as she unbuttons the shirt fully, pulls it back to reveal the huge bruises across her torso, half-hidden by her bra. “What—what _happened?_ ”

“Had a…a run-in with Chau’s minions,” Hermann says; the words quiet, careful; “The PPDC officers with me took care of them, but they…got in a few hits.”

A half-hysterical laugh bubbles up in Newt’s throat. “A _few_ ,” she says. “God, Hermann, that— _fuck_.”

Her hands hover above it; on instinct; not touching, of _course_ not, but—god. _God_.

“Nothing’s…broken,” Hermann says. “Might have one or two…cracked, though.”

“No _wonder_ you were hurting.” Newt shakes her head. “Okay—okay, you don’t want to go to medical, so let’s…um. Ice, and—and—how long has it been since you took your meds? That might help with the pain a bit.”

“…two days,” Hermann admits.

“ _Hermann_ ,” Newt hisses. “Damnit—you _idiot_. Okay. Okay, well, at least we know you _can_ take a dose now.” She sighs; hands falling to her sides. “I’ll…I’m going to go steal some ice from the kitchens. Just—lay there, and don’t move.”

There’s a pause, and for a moment, Newt fears she’s fallen asleep, with how shallowly her chest is rising, and then she says, “Alright,” and the tightness in Newt’s chest fades a bit.

She rises; grabs Hermann’s orange prescription bottle from the top of her dresser and grabs one of the empty mugs up there as well; rinses it out and fills it with water in Hermann’s tiny en-suite; offers Hermann two caplets and the glass, and then realises lurches forward to steady the cup when Hermann, hands shaking, almost spills it.

Hermann smiles at her gratefully, and tips the mug to her lips; swallowing the first caplet, and then, a few moments later, the second one. “Thank you, Newton,” she half-whispers.

“Y—yeah,” Newt stutters, taking the cup and setting it on the floor; empty, now, and says, “I’ll, uh—I’ll go get that ice.”

Thankfully, everyone’s busy partying, so it’s pretty easy to sneak into the kitchens and grab some ice and stick it in a plastic bag. It’s not _the_ best solution ever, but it should help with the pain a bit until Hermann’s meds kick in.

When she gets back, Hermann’s in the same position, thankfully—Newt was afraid she’d try to get up like an idiot, but it seems like she’s listened to Newt. For _once_.

She offers Hermann the ice; watches as Hermann sets it against the deepest purple part of the bruise, hissing for a moment, face contorting with pain, before she sighs with relief. “Thank you, Newton,” she says. “I…you needn’t’ve gone to the…trouble.”

Newt shrugs. “‘s nothing,” she mutters.

There’s a quiet hum; disbelief, Newt knows. They’re going to have a long conversation about the Drift—probably not tomorrow, but they really should talk about what they saw. “Come lay down,” Hermann says, finally. “There’s plenty room for…the both of us. And I know…you’re exhausted.”

She wavers for a moment; about to refuse, and then realises it’s pointless. Hermann’s right; of course she is. “Alright,” she sighs, “let me just peel off my clothes—they’re filthy and you probably don’t want that on your sheets.”

Hermann grunts. “I’d rather not,” she says. “There should be…some of my clothes that’ll…fit you.”

There are; nothing Newt would normally wear, but she’s too tired to care, and they smell like lavender—Hermann keeps a sachet in each drawer, and the scent is soft and calming.

Carefully, she gets into the bed; shifting so that she can lay down all the way.

“Thanks,” she says; quiet; not sure Hermann is awake to hear it anymore. Thanks for…what does she even _mean?_ Thanks for letting me into your bed? For Drifting with me? For—what? Something else, unnamed? All of the above?

Hermann’s not asleep; and she shifts, slightly, almost imperceptibly; closer to Newt. “Of course,” she murmurs; the sound of her breath the only thing Newt can hear, a moment later. “I…of course,” she says, again; and goes quiet.

There’s something more she wants to say; Newt can tell, and she says, “Hey, don’t worry. We can…we can talk about it tomorrow, or whenever you’re ready.”

The other lets out a soft sigh. “…thank you, Newton,” she says, finally. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Herms,” Newt says, a soft smile curling at the corners of her lips.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> post-pru, hermann's pov

They’ve released Newton from medical, _finally_. The scans have been coming back clean for two weeks, but despite Hermann’s insistence she was released earlier, they’ve only just now decided to give her the official all-clear.

She looks like hell, to put it bluntly; thinner than Hermann’s ever seen her, eyes faded and half-glassy; hair a mess, and not in her usually artistically mussed style. Hermann swallows thickly; tries to force her expression into neutrality. “Would you like to eat something?” she asks, hovering behind the island counter in the kitchen. “I can, ah, order take-out, or we can go out—I’d offer to cook, but, well.” She shrugs.

That makes Newton’s lips twitch; the first sign of vitality Hermann’s seen in her since they got here. “Figures,” she says, quietly. “You never _were_ good at it.”

“I’m _passable_ ,” Hermann says. “I take it that means you’d rather have takeout?”

“I—” the other licks her lips; falls silent for a moment. “If…if you don’t mind,” she says, finally, avoiding Hermann’s gaze. “Um. If it’s not too much trouble for you, I mean—I can totally just go get something from the mess…”

Hermann shakes her head. “No, no, it’s quite alright,” she reassures. “I don’t mind. Do you, er—do you still like fried dumplings?”

She stumbles over the words; the awkwardness of the situation palpable, to her at least, and curses herself for it; curses herself for the way Newton still doesn’t meet her gaze.

“Yeah, sure,” Newton says. “I’ll—I’m good with whatever, so.”

Hermann nods. “Alright,” she says, “I’ll order, then.”

Newton remains silent as she orders; motionless, too; in fact, Hermann realises, thinking on it, she hasn’t seen Newt move like she used to—no bouncing leg, no fidgeting fingers; no pulling at the fabric of her clothing.

_Has Newton really changed that much?_ she wonders. _Is it the effects of ten years, or…or of the Precursors?_

There’s no answers to be had, of course; she’s not expecting them, but it would be—nice, honestly. She still feels like she’s very much in the dark at times, and she’s one of the few people who really knows much of _anything_.

The food gets there twenty minutes later; Hermann pays the delivery-man and takes the bag, closing and latching the door behind her; and then, on instinct, slides the chain into place. It never hurts to be too safe, after all.

Newton’s still sitting in more or less the same spot as she was when they got into the flat, but when she sees Hermann with the bags, she rises; hands hovering awkwardly at her sides. “Is there—is there anything I can do?”

“Table, please,” Hermann says. “There’s a fold-out one behind the sofa.”

Newton nods; sharp; pulls the table out and unfolds it; sets it in front of the sofa, and then gives Hermann a questioning glance; expression unreadable; shoulders tense. “That’s good,” Hermann reassures, and the tightness drains from the other, incrementally.

Hermann sets the bag down on the table; pulls the boxes out and passes two of them to Newton. “I hope you don’t mind,” she says, “I, ah—took the liberty to order you a double serving.”

Newton blinks at her wordlessly; glancing between the boxes and Hermann, and then says, “Oh. T—thanks, Hermann.” 

It’s quiet; and she’s still not meeting Hermann’s gaze, but there’s something in her tone that makes Hermann suspect it’s because if she did, she’d have to hide tears—and that makes Hermann’s chest ache; to know that this is an uncommon kindness for Newton.

She clears her throat to try and rid it of the tightness; sits. A moment later, Newton sits by her side, hesitantly; opens the box and spears a dumpling, glancing between it and Hermann before she takes a bite.

“Any good?” Hermann asks; the words seeming to startle the biologist.

“Uh—yeah,” Newton says, “they’re…really good. Um. Thanks, Hermann.” She tilts her head in some unintelligible motion, though it seems to be one of appreciation. “You didn’t—you didn’t have to.”

Hermann sighs; softly; sets her chopsticks down and reaches out to place a gentle hand on Newton’s leg. “No,” she concedes, “but I wanted to, because I knew it would make you feel better.”

“I…” Newton swallows. Doesn’t continue. Doesn’t know _how_ , it seems.

“It’s alright,” Hermann reassures. “You don’t have to say anything. Just eat.”

“…alright,” Newton says, quietly, and meets Hermann’s gaze, finally. There’s a soft, almost-smile there, and she places her hand over Hermann’s. “Thanks, Hermann.”

“Of course,” Hermann murmurs, and returns to her noodles, smiling herself.

Partway through, Hermann offers to put on a film—she doesn’t have many, but she’s collected all of Newton’s favourites over the years; like the kaiju figurines, they’ve been her mementoes of a relationship she thought she’d lost.

They settle on one of the Star Trek movies—Hermann’s seen it once or twice before, and knows Newton’s seen it a good dozen, but it still manages to capture the biologist’s attention; has her leaning forward, breathless, even when she knows what’s going to happen.

The sight makes Hermann’s ribcage grow warm; it’s perhaps the first time she’s seen Newton like this in years, and the sight is one she treasures immensely, and hopes she’ll get to see again.

Throughout it, they both eat one-handed; Hermann’s hand is still on Newton’s leg, and Newton’s hand is still covering it; warm and calloused; comforting, in a way Hermann hasn’t known in a long, long time.

By the time they’re towards the end of the movie, they’ve both finished their meals, and Newton’s laid her head against Hermann’s shoulder. “Newton,” she murmurs, “I need to get up and eject the disc.”

Technically, she doesn’t _need_ too, really; but Hermann’s never particularly been a fan of letting the credits roll to the end. There’s something about it that makes it seem like a waste of time.

There’s no answer, and, when she looks, Newton’s eyes are closed; her expression slack, chest rising softly; deep in sleep. Hermann fights a smile at the sight. Well—perhaps she can let the credits run to the end. Just this once. 

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me at [autisticharrow](https://autisticharrow.tumblr.com/) on tumblr


End file.
